


set the kitchen on fire (you might only get lines)

by the_gayest_witch (perfection_located)



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, F/F, Insecurity, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 17:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14000673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfection_located/pseuds/the_gayest_witch
Summary: There is the distinct feeling of having her heart ripped out of her own chest and then shoved back in wrong, upside down. She's been turned inside out, she thinks, because what else could cause pain like this?***moved from tumblr. edited into unrecognizable angst. happy ending hackle, i promise





	set the kitchen on fire (you might only get lines)

**Author's Note:**

> basics structure from my tumblr the-gayest-witch-at-cackle. i angsted really hard last night and added like 1k words and lots more crying. blame always-la-belle-epoque and her latest fic

After Agatha has been locked away in her portrait, Hecate decides it is high time to run. She has become accustomed to running, has been fleeing since she first left her home for boarding school, and can feel the tug in her gut that tells her that her time is up, low and heavy like the guilt of her misdeeds.

Hecate cannot actually leave, of course. She is Ada’s right hand woman, the school’s deputy, her student’s teacher. She cannot disappear like she did last time, just before the waterskiing broomstick display, just after realizing that Pippa was better off without Hecate weighing her down. But while Hecate may not be able to leave, there are other ways to run. She has left her body behind before, has watched it from above, numb and passionless. This running will not be quite so drastic, quite so yanked-from-her-own-skin detatched, but it will be similar enough, she thinks. 

Her evasion is small, at first. She begins to sleep in her own bed more often. Mildred Hubble is causing trouble, she says, and she doesn’t want to wake Ada every time she is summoned by some alarm or another. This practice is not uncommon for term time, but it is not common, either. Hecate pretends that her own bed does not feel like an open-air coffin, her room like a silent mausoleum. Morgana begins to sulk, begins to hiss and nip. She, too, misses Ada's warm quilt and gentle hands. 

Then Hecate begins to miss their nightly teas. She claims grading, claims detentions, claims a student has asked for a study session. All of this is true, of course, but - well, usually Hecate finds time for Ada, even amongst the chaos. And it is chaos, because without Ada there to smooth her rough edges, to soothe her frayed patience, Hecate can feel the world become a whirlwind around her, faster, faster, faster. Soon, the gusts might tear her apart, she thinks, might lay her bare before the world. 

Ada is giving Hecate space. Hecate knows this. She knows that Ada always allows Hecate to cope in her own, messy ways. Hecate is still performing her duties as deputy head admirably, and so Ada can find no excuse to broach the subject, anyways, not during school hours, and not when Hecate is avoiding her.

It is not until Hecate begins to call Ada ‘Miss Cackle’ in private that Ada snaps.

"Sit," she demands, when Hecate enters her office. She has summoned Hecate for lesson plan review, but when Hecate sees the clench of Ada's jaw, she knows that there will be no discussion of cirriculum, not today.

So Hecate sits primly on the edge of one of Ada’s many armchairs, perched as though ready to take flight. She stares at the clenched hands in her lap, unable to make eye contact. This is it, then, she supposes. Ada has noticed her absences, noticed her distance, and has decided it is best to end what they have. Hecate can feel her heart stutter and begin to crack. This is what she wanted, isn’t it? 

Isn't it?

Ada serves the tea and sits, cup untouched, across from Hecate. She says nothing, only watches, assessing, like she would a wayward student. If Hecate were any less disciplined she would shift uncomfortably. As it is she does not look up, can feel her nails begin carve half-moon circles into the soft flesh of her palms.

It feels like a millenia before Ada speaks, softly, into the thick silence. "I’ve tried to give you time, Hecate. I’ve given you more than I can bear to give, in fact, and you continue to pull away." Hecate braces herself for rejection, for the end. She thinks her nails may have drawn blood. "My dear, I must- I must ask you what is wrong. What has happened, my love?"

And this question is not what Hecate thought it would be, but really, what else should she have expected? This is Ada, kind, compassionate Ada, who can always see when something is bothering Hecate. Nonetheless, Hecate is stunned into silence for a moment, before she cobbles together an answer. "I- well. I’ve realized that we are not a good match, Miss Cackle." These words taste like almonds, like cyanide and regret. Hecate hates herself for the way they fall so easy from her lips - she is not lying, she is no good for Ada, and she knows it now.

"You- what?" Now it is Ada stunned, shocked, eyes blurring with tears that Hecate longs to wipe away. Her hands tremble with the urge. For a long minute, Ada collects herself.

When she speaks, her voice wavers dangerously. "Well. I don’t know what I've done, Hecate, and I-I beg you to let me fix it, but if you-" her demeanor falters, and she lets out a choking sob, claps a hand over her mouth, face a painful, twisted visage. It is with great difficutly that she continues. "If you think you’ll be happier without me, I can't-" she chokes again, "I won't stop you."

Hecate is floored. This is not what she had wanted, not what she had meant. There is the distinct feeling of having her heart ripped out of her own chest and then shoved back in wrong, upside down. She's been turned inside out, she thinks, because what else could cause pain like this? She stumbles out of her seat, towards Ada, falls to her knees and buries her head in Ada’s lap. "No, no, not you, Ada, never you. You’ve done nothing Ada, oh, please don’t cry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry." Hecate feels tears on her cheeks and realizes that they must be her own.

Hecate cries, long and hard and silent, the way she always has. Her shoulders convulse and she wraps her hands around fistfuls of Ada's soft pink cardigan, breathes in Ada's scent - vanilla and tea leaves and lemon and wool - listens to Ada's own confused, crying murmurs.

"Not you," she mumbles, over and over again into Ada's lap, maybe a chant, maybe a prayer, probably something like penance. "Not you. Never you. I love you, I love you, I love you." 

And then there are hands on her cheeks, gentle, soft, loving hands, tilting her face upwards. She inhales shaprly at the touch, gasps out half of a broken sob, forces herself to meet Ada's eyes. 

"Then- why?" And Ada sounds so broken, so confused and small and helpless. Both women are in agony, right now, and Hecate would do anything to take Ada's away. "Why are you leaving?"

"Be-because I'm, sh-sharp and-" Hecate can feel the words catch in her mouth like so many knives, cannot swallow around them, chokes on her own confession.

There is a dawning realization in Ada’s eyes before something like steel replaces it, and Hecate flinches back, tries in vain to shake Ada off of her. "You're what, Hecate? Sharp? Hard? Impatient?" 

These are all the words Hecate could not say and they ring like gunshots in the empty cavity where her heart used to reside. She thinks she may be dying, for the way the world begins blacken at the edges. There is a whimper, and she realized belatedly that it is her own.

Ada must see the way Hecate is crumbling, must be witnessing the dissolution of the soul behind Hecate's eyes, but she continues. "Are you trying to tell me you're stubborn and aloof and set in your ways?" Ada's smile is sad and kind and all of the wrong things for the way she is burning the world down around Hecate. "I know these things already, dear."

Hecate collapses, curls in on herself, wonders if this is what implosion feels like.

"I know these things, Hecate, and I love you still."

Hecate's head snaps up. Ada is looking at her with that same, sad, kind smile, but now it seems like it might be right. 

"You- you love me?" And Hecate can hear the plea in her voice, the confused whine. Part of her still feels like she's missing pieces of the puzzle. Anothet part of her screams that this is the first time she has been whole in weeks.

"Yes! Yes, yes, Hecate, I love you! A thousand times over, I love you." Ada sounds frantic, panicked, as though she is about to dissolve again into tears. 

Slowly, gently, giving Hecate every chance to pull away, Ada leans forward, presses the softest of kisses to Hecate's lips. When she pulls back her cheeks have grown wet, and she rests her forehead against Hecate's.

"I'm sorry, Hecate," she whispers. "I'm so sorry you didn't know that beyond a doubt."

Hecate cannot speak around the shape of the regrets on her tongue just yet, so she kisses Ada instead, this time harder, longer, deeper, deeper, deeper. Ada breaks the kiss, moves away, smiles just a little brighter than before.

"You- you always make me feel loved, Ada." This is all Hecate can manage for a long moment, but Ada waits, eyes kind, for Hecate to find the words. "I let my insecurities get the better of me. I apologize." A heavy, shaky breath. "I'm so sorry, Ada. I'm so, so sorry. I thought- I couldn't imagine-"

Again, Ada must finish her sentence, must step in where the tears and the fear and the weight of a childhood forcibly forgotten fall too heavy on Hecate's shoulders. "You couldn't imagine yourself being worthy of love? Is that it?"

Hecate nods, the small, scared nod of a child who is afraid of the consequences. 

"You're more than worthy, Hecate. More than deserving." Ada's jaw clenches for a moment, but the anger is not for Hecate. "And even if you were not worthy, I- I would love you anyways. I have not always made it clear enough how much I need you, Hecate." A gentle thumb caresses Hecate's jaw. "But I do so desperately need you."

Hands gently pry Hecate's fisted grip from Ada's cardigan, shushing apologies for the wrinkled fabric. A tingling wave of magic cleans Hecate's face, and Ada's after. 

Hecate allows herself to be pulled up into Ada’s lap, legs over the side of the armchair, head burrowed in Ada’s neck. "I’m sorry, Ada," she mumbles into a pink patterned cardigan. "I love you so frightfully much. It scares me, sometimes, to think you love me just as much."

"Do not be sorry, my dear. Just be honest, next time."

The pair lays like that, quiet, breathing in the scent of one another for a full hour, with nothing but the sound of the crackling fire and Hecate’s sniffles - she will deny these later - to accompany their gentle breathing and tumultuous thoughts.

Then Mildred Hubble sets the kitchen on fire. When Hecate leaves to discipline the girl, Mildred is spared detention and given only lines.

Hecate wants to spend the evening in Ada’s arms. Ada is only too happy to oblige.

**Author's Note:**

> lemme know what u thought!
> 
> as always drop prompts in my inbox at the-gayest-witch-at-cackle on tumblr. love u all!


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